


May The Walls Run Red

by ReindeerGames



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Oblivious John, Other, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sherlock, Suspicious John, Vampire Sherlock, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReindeerGames/pseuds/ReindeerGames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is a Vampire and he has a lust towards his flatmate, John Watson, but holds himself back. After a Case, he can't any longer. John is terrified of the situation and he shoots Sherlock, seeing it as the only option. The last thing he sees is his dying friend. But the next day he wakes up, what scares John the most is that Sherlock is ALIVE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scream

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based from a FanArt on Devaintart. It is called '+Slayer+' and is by 'Sonxfanchara'

t was the Winter of 2014; Sherlock –and John- had nearly solved a Case. Men’s dead bodies had been turning up naked, bloody, bruised and showing obvious signs of Rape. But the thing that disturbed everyone the most was the fact that they were all missing enormous amounts of blood. It had taken a few hours for Sherlock to solve it, but when he did, he rushed back to the Flat he and John shared.  
  
“John!” Sherlock exclaimed and burst into 221B Baker Street “I know where the murderer is!” He paused at the silence of the flat.   
  
“John?” he said, quietly. His eyes narrowed at the mess before him and as an unfamiliar scent filled his nostrils. He growled, someone had been in the flat. His eyes caught onto scratches on the floor and he kneeled over them, running a hand over them.   
  
 _Heel marks. Someone had been dragged across the floor. Weighed about 126 pounds, and were approximately 1.65 metres high._  
  
Sherlock’s eyes caught onto small specks of blood on the floor, he wiped a finger on it and placed it in his mouth. His head snapped up. The blood was fresh. No more than an hour. And the blood belonged to only one person.  
  
 _John_

  
He was out of the door before he even finished the thought.  
  
  
~~~~~~   
  
  
It had taken around half an hour to pick up John Watson’s scent. And then from there, finding the doctor was a walk through the park. Sherlock silently entered the empty building; John’s scent was stronger here. He was definitely in the right place.   
He crawled silently through the empty corridors, following his friends smell. He came across a room where light emitted from a single bulb on the ceiling. He had found John. He appeared to be talking with a man. Sherlock waited in the shadows for a few moments longer, curious on how this would turn out  
  
“Just you wait…” John rasped, obviously in pain.   
  
 _Blow to the Head_  Sherlock assessed  
  
“Sherlock will come for me” It touched Sherlock’s dead heart on how loyal his dear Army Doctor was.   
  
“Why are you so optimistic?” the man in front of John said harshly “Pathetic . You should not hold such hope when there is none.”  
  
“S-Shut up…” John growled. His eyes snapped away from his doctor when the other man approached John. “Stay back!” he shouted and tugged at his bonds, drawing blood. Sherlock forced his nerves to calm and not jump onto John there and then. Why did the Doctor’s blood have to have such a divine flavour? He licked his lips, even now though, he could taste the drop of blood that he’s had at Baker Street. It lingered on his lips and he moaned. He needed  _more_.  
  
Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts when the man began to walk out of the room. Sherlock followed and the tall man walked into a separate room. Sherlock stood up straight and closed the door silently behind him. The man whirled and before he could blink, he was on his back with a silver dagger pressed against his throat.  
  
“What the Hell?!” the murderer screeched  
  
“You are a Vampire aren’t you?” Sherlock spat when there was no response; he pressed the dagger deeper “ANSWER ME!”  
  
“I am!” the man in the floor squeaked “I’m a Vampire and I killed all those men!”  
  
“You are  _sick_ ” Sherlock growled. Before he pressed his face closer to his prisoner “No one touches John Watson. Do you understand me? He. Is.  _Mine_ ” Sherlock hissed in the man’s ear  
  
“I-I’m sorry! It w-won’t h-happen again!”  
  
“No, it won’t.” Sherlock pressed the dagger deeper into the man’s throat. The murderer thrashed uselessly before lying still, his eyes were wide and his mouth was formed into a shape of an ‘O’  
  
“Nobody touches John” Sherlock snarled and resisted the urge to spit on the body. Sherlock wiped the blood on the shirt of the body before tucking it away in his black jacket. He cleared his throat before getting out a bottle of oil and sprinkling it all over the corpse. He struck a match and then the body burst into flames.  
  
“Let that be a lesson to you.” Sherlock muttered before turning and walking back towards the room John was being held in.   
He walked into the room and he saw John’s eyes widen  
  
“S-Sherlock!” John exclaimed happily, he sounded like he was going to start crying there and then.  
  
“Stay still” Sherlock said gently and undid the ropes. John stood up before Sherlock could have a taste of the blood across his wrist. The detective resisted the urge to moan in disappointment. Instead, he straightened   
  
“Let’s head home.” He said in the best Calm voice he could muster.  
  
  
~~~~~~   
  
  
The cab ride home was slightly awkward for John. He felt that Sherlock’s gaze was boring into his skull. He refused to shiver; instead, he rubbed gently on his sore wrists and sighed. Luckily they wouldn’t need bandages and they should heal within a few days. He sighed again when the Cab finally came to a halt outside 221 Baker Street.   
He got out of the car and waited patiently as Sherlock unlocked the door and let him be the first to go inside. John smiled slightly before walking up the stairs to their flat. He walked in and was welcomed by a mess of a sight. There were papers everywhere and a shattered mug on the floor.   
  
John moved to the end of the sofa –under the yellow smiley face- and picked up his laptop. He heard the floorboards creak behind him and the next thing John knew, he was being shoved against the wall of the flat, knocking the lamp over and dropping his laptop in the process.  
  
“S-Sherlock?!” John shrieked and struggled against the taller man’s –surprisingly strong- grip. Who knew that Sherlock could have this amount of strength for his thin form. Sherlock’s eyes were filled with sadness.  
  
“I’m sorry John… I… I can’t fight it anymore.” The sadness melted and was replaced with lust and insanity. He opened his mouth and John couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped his lips when Sherlock’s teeth began to grow. They grew  _Deadly_. John had to admit, for the first time, in a very long time, he was scared. No, Terrified!  
  
“Sherlock! What’s wrong with you?! L-Let me go!” he gasped “I don’t want to hurt you!”  
  
“Well” came a deep voice that couldn’t be Sherlock’s. It sounded so dark and it sent shivers down the blonde’s spine.  
  
“That makes this  _so_  much  _easier_ ” Not-So-Sherlock’s voice purred. John froze as he felt Sherlock’s breath on his neck and dark curls brush his cold cheek. John began to squirm.  
  
“Sh-Sherlock, you’ve lost it!” he shouted and the other man chuckled at John’s fatal attempts to escape. John’s heart began to hammer against his chest and his breaths became hitched.  
  
Suddenly, John’s vision turned red as Sherlock’s fangs bit down onto his neck and sank into the flesh. John couldn’t help it.  
  
 **He Screamed**


	2. I'm Sorry

Pain. That was all John could feel. He had stopped screaming moments ago, his throat raw and his body weak from blood loss. He could sense his limps fall weakly by his sides and black splodges decorate his vision. His blood coated hand brushed across cold metal and it took him a few moments to realise it was his gun. And it took nearly all his strength just trying to brag it. Sherlock was still over him, his fangs still embedded in the raw flesh. John raised his gun, his hand shaking, and fired.   
  
He heard a satisfactory howl of pain from Sherlock, who dropped the shorter man who landed roughly on the floor. John’s breathing was ragged and black leaked into his vision  
“You are a lot more trouble than you are worth” Sherlock growled as his eyes fixed on John’s pitiful form. He wiped his mouth with his good arm.  
  
“Y-You’re nnnot Sherlock… anymore” John gasped between breaths despite the pain “H-he’s gone...” John saw blood seep through Sherlock’s sleeve.  
  
 _Damn_  He had only just clipped the taller man’s upper arm. John weakly raised his gun as his flatmate walked closer  
  
“If y-you  _are_  in there Sherlock… I’m Sorry…” John aimed for Sherlock’s heart and pulled the trigger.  
  
A body dropped to the floor and John’s arm finally fell loosely to his side, all strength gone. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bleeding form of Sherlock a few inches away. So this was it. He was going to die here; watching his only best friend bleed out in front of him. He let himself lean back against the wall and he sagged. John had no idea how much blood he’s lost, but what he did know that he had only a miniscule chance of survival.  
  
 _I’m so Sorry Sherlock…_  
  
John had tears fall down his cheeks as he accepted his fate. He allowed the blackness to permanently claim him.


	3. Frozen

Eyes snapped open, blinking away the residue of unconsciousness. John Watson gasped and bolted into an upright position as the occasion of last night rushed into his mind. He frowned as his bedroom came into focus.  
  
 _Shouldn’t I be dead?_  
  
He threw the covers –which had been practically cocooned around his body- over his head and sprinted in front of the mirror in his bathroom. Immediately he was checking his neck where Sherlock’s fangs had penetrated. He froze completely. There was nothing. The skin was smooth and showed no evidence of the events that had taken place the evening before. They should have been there! His thoughts were disrupted as the sound of a violin playing filled his ears.  
  
 _No, that was impossible_  
  
He would have been mesmerised with the notes if it were not for the one playing it. Slowly, and very cautiously, he walked out of his bathroom, his room and down the stairs. John winced as a loud creak echoed around the flat. The Violin stopped and John froze, paralyzed to the spot. It felt like years before the blonde heard the smooth, and somehow unsettling, sound of the instrument again. He let out a breath he never knew he was holding and continued his journey down the final few stairs.  
He entered the living room and paused at the sight before him. Sherlock stood, back facing the doctor, violin in hand and dressing gown hung loosely on his wiry frame. John shook his head in disbelief and stepped backwards.   
  
 _Sherlock is dead, I shot him. I_ shot _him_  
  
His feet tangled with something, causing him to tumble backwards and land on the floor with a loud thump. His breath hitched in his throat.  
  
The Violin stopped playing.


	4. Uncertainty

John scrambled back to his feet as he saw a tall, thin shadow reach out to him. There was the sound of rushing wind in his ears and the next thing he knew, he was leaning against the door frame, gasping and the world tilting alarmingly around him.  
  
“j…n…jh…n… John!” he heard someone shout his name and he opened his eyes that he wasn’t aware of closing. He saw Sherlock standing before him, a look of worry etched on his face “John? Can you hear me?”  
  
His instincts kicking in, John pushed Sherlock away and stumbled backwards to the wall. His breathing was quick and his heart was hammering against his ribs.  _This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream._ That thought continued to repeat in his mind like a broken DVD. John squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, he was still in 221B, with Sherlock getting to his feet.  
  
“John, I need you to calm down otherwise you will go into Shock.” Sherlock said calmly  
  
“Y-You can’t be here…” John stammered his face growing pale “I shot you…”  
  
“No you didn’t” Sherlock replied, approaching John slowly, with a hand outstretched “Don’t you remember what happened?” John shook his head and pressed himself further against the wall  
  
“I r-remember we came home and you-you attacked me and-and…” John breath hitched in his throat  
  
“John, calm down.” Sherlock stopped a few metres from the shorter man “None of that happened. You were kidnapped. You remember that don’t you?” John nodded slowly  
“Yes. Good. And the man, he cut you with a knife while you were in the factory” Sherlock crept a little closer to his flatmate “When I arrived, I made swift work of the murderer and I released you from your bonds. You collapsed a few minutes later due to blood loss. I took you back here, dressed your wound and put you to bed. You have been unconscious ever since”  
  
“How can I know you’re not lying?” John stammered, obviously unsure now. Sherlock’s story  _did_  seem to make sense. Sherlock was now no more than a meter from John  
  
“There is a cut on your left arm under a thick layer of bandages; it is approximately 12 centimetres long and half an inch deep” Sherlock motioned to John’s left sleeve. The ex-army doctor slowly tugged up the sleeve and gasped as he saw a layer of bandages  
  
“Told you” Sherlock voice whispered and John jumped “Sorry…” the detective apologised  
  
“B-But… I shot you and I saw you  _dying_ …” John stuttered   
  
“None of that happened.”  
  
“I mean you  _drank_  my  _blood_  Sherlock! I felt the agony of it all. I screamed!”  
  
“Please, John, me a  _Vampire_?” Sherlock scoffed “That was obviously a nightmare”  
  
“But it felt so real…” John shuddered involuntarily  
  
“But it wasn’t.” Sherlock straightened and held out a hand which John took. Sherlock –with surprising strength- pulled John up. John shivered as the memory of his supposed _nightmare_.  
  
“The Murderer?” John asked finally  
  
“Dead.”  
  
“Oh…”  
  
“Erm… Tea? I hear it is one of the best things to have after a nightmare” Sherlock offered and his friend nodded  
  
“Please.”  
  
John Watson moved to his sofa and relaxed into t. Everything was back to normal. There was no blood, no Vampire. No nothing.   
  
So then why did he still have doubt lingering in the back of his mind?


End file.
